


in this time

by chaospitals (hardscrabble)



Series: between two fourth lineys [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, domesticity ??, honestly? I hurt my own feelings, nhl pause 2020, podcast boys, podslash: the fluffening, very light D/s, who am i anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardscrabble/pseuds/chaospitals
Summary: Garnet is not going to the rink for morning skate. There hasn’t been a morning skate, let alone a rink, for well over a month. But here he is anyway, dressed for warmups with a breakfast smoothie halfway towards blended and a train of dream-thought about the penalty kill dissolving in his head.
Relationships: Nic Dowd/Garnet Hathaway
Series: between two fourth lineys [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775260
Comments: 23
Kudos: 58





	in this time

When he actually wakes up enough to notice what he’s doing, Garnet is in the kitchen, fully dressed in warmup gear with his teeth brushed, a breakfast smoothie halfway toward blended, and a train of dream-logic thought about the penalty kill dissolving in his head.

It’s the offseason. Or the postseason, and it was going to be the postseason. Right now, it’d have been near the end of the first round, and the boys would have been settling into their playoff groove. Hard hits, skate full-out, get the job done, next man up while whichever man went down gets himself duct-taped back together. Don’t expect the refs to give a shit. All the postseason media clichés, except for the parts about dubious medical decisions and officiating critiques, of course.

However, this year, Garnet is not going to the rink for morning skate.

There hasn’t _been_ a morning skate, let alone a rink, for well over a month.

This year, it’s near the end of the sixth week since the pause was announced—_the pause_, god, the portentousness of it, the increasingly absurd degree of optimism it implies as the continent remains in freefall—and Garnet is going nowhere except maybe for a socially distanced run. While wearing the mask his mom sent him, featuring the Brown Bears logo front and center. Not that there’s anywhere else for the logo to be, really, on a face mask.

But here he is anyway, the blender still pureeing whatever he threw in there, because the schedule is ground just that deep into his muscle memory.

“Ridiculous,” he tells the blender.

In response, it stops whirring. His glass is next to it on the counter, waiting for him to pour in the nutrient gloop, which is green enough that he guesses sleep-robot Garnet threw in a good fistful of kale. Robo-Garnet must have got programmed before awake Garnet decided he’s just really not that much of a kale guy.

Probably the dumbest part of this is he’s been in almost exactly this situation, standing at this counter with unnecessary breakfast ready, like, ten times since the pause started. More often in the beginning, but he’s thought he’s really been getting somewhere in the last couple weeks, when he’s woken up and just stayed in bed until he actually felt like moving.

But, hey, it’s still food, so he transfers it to the glass, stares at it, sighs, and takes a seat on one of the barstools at the end of the counter to drink the damn thing.

It’s not like it tastes bad. It’s just the entire concept of a routine being _this_ deeply embedded—that’s kind of a downer.

He’s about halfway through his ambiguously green, ambiguously textured smoothie when he hears a scuff in the hallway, then an actual scuffle, a thump against the wall, and Nic mumbling, “Yeah, fuck you.” He rounds the corner into the kitchen working his shoulder around in its socket. His hair is an absurdity of fuzzed curls, his eyes are blurry with sleep, he’s not wearing a shirt, and the pants he slept in—which fit during preseason, he explains, which is why he hasn’t gotten rid of them—are dragging on the floor. Which is probably how he tripped himself up in the hall.

Garnet’s chest does its Nic thing, where it feels like his heart expands against his ribcage, even as he says, “You tell that wall, bud.”

“Coulda taken it in a fair fight,” Nic mutters. His words all blur together. “If it didn’t fuckin’… ambush.”

A pretty typical morning-Nic pronouncement, really. Garnet is quietly amazed, as he finds himself a couple times a day, that he knows and sees typical Nic at this level, this frequently. Which, like, obviously, because he finished moving all his shit over to Nic’s much more furnished apartment in December or something, had his sad empty-bookshelf townhouse staged and sold by mid-January, but—still. Nic, in the morning, gets into would-be scrums with architectural elements of his home, because he’s clumsy when he’s just awake. In response to the ambush thing, which is objectively absurd, Garnet points out, gently, “It’s a wall.”

“Ambush on an unsuspecting man,” says Nic.

He always doubles down on the dumb stuff. That’s not a morning-Nic thing, though. That’s all the time.

“A load-bearing wall.”

“Unsuspecting man in his own home. Dirty pool. Why are you…” Nic registers the smoothie, then the specifics of Garnet’s clothes, and his face squinches up in sympathy. “Oh, did—”

Garnet sighs. “Autopilot.”

“Robo-Garny strikes again,” replies Nic, with a matching sigh. He gestures vaguely at the glass. “What’s in that?”

“Fuck if I know. Aside from kale.” Garnet grimaces and pushes the glass away. “Whatever’s not in the fridge anymore.”

“Start a food truck with that one. Whatever-was-in-the-fridge smoothies.”

“Hard sell, bud.”

“Probably not much worse than lobster,” says Nic as he picks up the glass. He peers at its contents, then sniffs at the top. “You done?”

Garnet raises his eyebrows. “You want leftover mystery smoothie, knock yourself out.” Nic shrugs with his face, a special ability; it’s something with his mouth, like the kind of frown that means _not bad_, but with eyebrows that say _might as well_. Then he drinks. “Courageous,” Garnet comments.

Nic drains the thing, because he’s a monster who likes weird green food, and steps over to the dishwasher, saying, “Blueberry, banana, those fuckin’ chia seeds, your weird vanilla protein crap, plain yogurt. And kale. In case you were wondering.”

Garnet’s brain hitches for a moment, because it’s stuck on Nic, his liney and best friend and, like, a lot of other things, finding a spot for the smoothie glass on the top rack of the dishwasher. So far today, that’s two moments of _wow, I get to live with him_. Then he catches the actual words and says, “What, you a professional taster now?”

“Yeah, they do online certifications,” says Nic drily. “Nah. It’s your default.” He leans his elbows on the counter across from Garnet and sucks in his stomach, because the countertop is cold and he doesn’t like temperature shocks early on. “Now what?”

“Now,” says Garnet, making it a little dramatic and spreading his arms, like _behold me_, “I am all dressed up. With absolutely nowhere to go.”

“Could go for a run.”

“Oh, yeah.” He drops his hands and slumps. “Hamster cage expansion pack.”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound as bitter as it does, as he feels.

Nic’s mouth quirks sideways. He reaches for Garnet, lays his palm on the side of Garnet’s face and strokes his cheekbone with his thumb. His hand is warm and his touch is soft and his fingers are just in the hair at the back of Garnet’s neck. Garnet lets his eyes close, lets go of the tension he didn’t know he was holding in his shoulders, and leans into Nic’s hand. After a moment, he turns just enough to touch his mouth to the inside of Nic’s wrist. He smells like sleep—warmth and cotton and a little salt-sour of sweat.

“Or,” says Nic, offhand, like he’s not watching Garnet get all soft and malleable like he does at the simplest things when it’s just them, “could come back to bed.”

“Doesn’t really go with the all-dressed-up thing,” Garnet says without moving. His voice buzzes against Nic’s forearm.

“Easy fix for that.” There’s a moment, a hesitation, before Nic says, even more casually, the way that he gets when he thinks he might be pushing more than Garnet wants to move, “Up to you. Got a whole day.”

The thing is, though, that Garnet will pretty much go wherever Nic suggests, pretty much anytime. It’s not out of the yes-dear kind of thing, the way some of the boys pretend to be with their girls (or maybe they’re not pretending; it’s not like it’s his business). Nic has good ideas, is all. And he knows Garnet, and he usually has a pretty accurate impression of how he’s feeling and what he wants to do about it.

And there’s the other thing where Garnet just… likes it. _It_ being doing like Nic says. Mostly in specific contexts, but only mostly. Like how he’s going syrupy here at the kitchen counter because Nic is watching him with his hand on Garnet’s cheek, his last two fingers just curling under Garnet’s jawbone, and saying _come back to bed_. “Nah, bed sounds good,” he says to Nic, lowkey and relaxed, because it’s important to reassure him that he’s not just humoring him. “Lazy sounds good.” Garnet stands and stretches, arms above his head until his spine pops, and adds on half a yawn, “What about you?”

“Dunno, bud,” says Nic, straightening. His eyes are still sleepy, half-closed. “Got half a kale smoothie in me. Ready to fuckin’ go.”

“Go where?”

Nic smirks enough to bring out one of his dimples. “Right back to bed. Only half of one, after all.”

“Of course.” Garnet comes around the counter and holds out one hand, which is another way he tells Nic he’s good. “C’mon. Won’t let the wall get you.”

“What if I wanna take a swing at it?” asks Nic, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Then I got your back, obviously.”

“’Least I can trust someone around here.”

Nic trails behind him all fifteen feet to the door of the bedroom. The wall doesn’t attack this time.

He goes around to his side, expecting Nic to flop right back onto the mattress and bundle in about eighty per cent of the blankets just to make a point, because it’s actually warm these days. Instead, Nic follows him, and when Garnet goes for his shirt hem, Nic says, quiet, “I got it.”

Garnet blinks. “Okay. If you want.”

From behind him, Nic lays his hands against Garnet’s sides, then around to his stomach as he steps close and kisses Garnet’s shoulder through the fabric. “Yeah, I do,” he says, running his palms over Garnet’s midriff. “Gotta work out your programming, bud.”

“If you got any ideas…”

Nic _hmm_s. “I can be really annoying,” he suggests.

“Knew that one.”

Usually something like that gets him a jab in the ribs or a flick against his side or, at the very least, Nic slobbering on his ear. All play, just goofing around because that’s how they bounce off each other until they stick, of course. He doesn’t realize he’s bracing for minor retaliation until Nic slides his hands to Garnet’s back and up to his shoulders and rubs, just gentle pressure under his shirt, but Garnet feels the resistance in his own muscles at first. “Hey,” Nic says, low. “So did I. Obviously not working, yeah? But I got you.”

Garnet sighs and lets his eyes close. “You do,” he says, a little ruefully.

“Yeah, but—” Nic breathes out through his nose. Frustration from somewhere. “Like, I _got_ you, okay? No games. Gonna be good to you, right.”

Garnet blinks and half-turns, enough to catch Nic’s eye. “You always are,” he says, confused.

“But, like, annoying-good. Play-fighting and shit. Which, fun.” Nic blinks and looks down; his hands are still on Garnet’s shoulders, fingers digging in a little like he’s nervous. “Right now I just want you.”

His voice catches at the end, and the words, the plainness of them, feel like Garnet just hit his funny bone but, like, with his entire skeleton.

Nic clears his throat. “I mean, that’s pretty much always, obviously.”

Half-aware, because his body is still reverberating, Garnet asks, “You gettin’ soft on me?”

“Might be,” replies Nic, and clears his throat again. “So I can take your clothes off?”

“Sweet-talker,” Garnet says, and then, “Yeah, bud, for sure.”

Nic takes his time easing his shirt off, making sure the collar doesn’t catch on his ears. He gets Garnet’s joggers half-down, leaving his boxer briefs alone, then asks him quietly if he wants to sit on the bed. Garnet does it without speaking, watches in vague wonder as Nic takes a knee to scrunch them down and off. “Not doing your socks, though,” he says matter-of-factly, looking up at Garnet from the floor. “Got limits.”

“No, obviously.” He folds one leg up at a time, like he always does, unless he’s in a major rush, and Nic _watches_ like it’s something miraculous. “What,” he says, suddenly self-conscious.

Nic blinks like he’s coming awake. “You look good,” he answers, and looks back up, locking eyes with Garnet. His voice is low as he adds, “I don’t know if I say that.”

“I mean. Kinda weird if you didn’t think so.”

“Different thing,” Nic says, shaking his head. “Thinking isn’t saying. You’re, like—fuckin’.” He shakes his head again and half-laughs. “Beautiful.”

At the word, he jerks. It’s like another zap to his bones.

“I don’t think I _have_ said that.” Nic’s eyes narrow. “Else you wouldn’t be surprised.”

Garnet opens his mouth to reply and his entire head is—not empty, but he can’t scrape up a single word to say. He blinks several times and, right, there’s this— “You too, though.”

Nic’s dimples come out as he nods. “Nice,” he says, genuinely satisfied, and gets to his feet just to sit next to Garnet at the edge of the mattress. “Okay. Got you un-dressed up. Next is back to bed.”

“Kind of there already, yeah?”

“You’re _on_ the bed,” says Nic. “You’re not _in_ it.”

“Of course.” Garnet moves to his side so that his head actually hits the pillows when he goes sideways. Nic sort of follows, pushing himself backward first, and lands just behind him, chest pressed against Garnet’s back with his arm looped around his waist.

Almost immediately he sits up again. “Blanket.”

“Critical.”

“Can’t believe I forgot it, really.”

Garnet moves his legs out of the way so Nic can get at the sheets and the one cotton blanket that he insists is necessary because it’s heavy but not, like, _warm_; Garnet just kind of watches, because there’s nothing else for him to do. Watches the muscles of Nic’s back shift under his skin as he straightens out the blanket, the nape of his neck when he bends his head to fuss over getting the hems parallel. _Beautiful_ is—yeah.

A dumb smile blooms on Nic’s face when he sweeps the covers over the two of them like a really well-meaning vampire with a cloak. Garnet can’t help smiling in response, especially when Nic makes this little happy humming noise as he settles back onto the pillows.

For a moment, they’re both quiet, Nic’s breath on the back of Garnet’s neck and Garnet looking at the point where the wall meets the ceiling, thinking, mainly, _huh_.

Then Nic rouses a bit, leans up on one elbow. “I mean,” he says, like they’re mid-conversation. Garnet shifts to his back so he can see his face. “I’d be…” Nic bunches up the fingers of his free hand near his temple and then separates all of them, a silent little explosion. “Going out of my goddamn mind with this whole thing.”

“Just going?” says Garnet reflexively.

Nic kisses his cheek. “It’d be worse,” he replies. “You have no idea. But with you. It’s, like. We’re pretty good.”

“Aside from Robo-Garny.”

“He’ll get on board,” says Nic confidently. “We’ll work on the programming. I mean it, though. This is pretty okay, with you.” He hesitates and glances away, eyelashes flickering, and then back at Garnet. “Like. I mean. I love you.”

Something blooms in Garnet’s chest, this warm thing like a fire—not the lightning strikes with sex, but a steady glow. It feels brand-new; it feels like he’s known it for months.

Still: “I _know_ you’ve said that.” On the ice, after a goal, at top volume. _Fucking love you, bro._ Not like this, at all. But he’s gotta make fun of Nic or he’ll fly apart or dissolve or something.

Nic is smiling, lopsided, like he knows what Garnet’s thinking and like he’s making fun of himself, too. “There’s screaming it in your face in front of a sell-out crowd and there’s saying it, though.”

“There is,” Garnet says. “It’s a valid point.” He lifts his hand and touches one finger to one of Nic’s dimples. “You too, though. I love you.”

Nic’s smile widens like he can’t help it, his entire face going soft. “Fuck yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” Garnet echoes, and slides his hand to the back of Nic’s head to draw him down into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> dear reader, I hope this fic finds you safe and well...
> 
> swear to god I was like "I am gonna write some smutty, smutty podcast pwp" and then Literally Everything went "actually, _tenderness_," and I ended up here. I am merely the vessel. title is from the subject line of nearly every email I have received in the last month.
> 
> thank you for reading, I live for feedback, and I am having a normal one, probably, over on [tumblr](http://chaospitals.tumblr.com/). please do drop by if you'd like! and really, hope you're well and that you stay that way!


End file.
